


Softened Hours

by raven_aorla



Series: Time Out of Mind [20]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cameos, Canon Queer Character, Drama, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other, Queerplatonic Relationships, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: “I don’t understand,” John said in mild despair. “I dressed myself perfectly fine for Alexander's wedding. Suddenly it’s like I can’t find sleeves and all the buttons dodge my fingers. And I can't stop thinking about the guest list. Why did I invite almost everyone I've done group therapy with? Which includes Thomas Jefferson, when Alexander is going to be there? Why did I invite my ex? Why did neither my friend Martha nor my sister Martha nor Alexander's foster mother Martha nor acerbic teenager Martha Jefferson Jr., all involved in this process, not stop me? The Marthas have failed me.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- I currently envision this to be the series finale, except for "Last-Second Stories", which will continue to exist as a place for little ficlets. Feel free to request ficlets, but no guarantees.
> 
> \- I freely acknowledge that the hypothesis of Stevens and Hamilton being half-brothers has evidence against and no evidence for other than, "Dang, those two look and think super alike and Thomas Stevens seemed to feel pretty guilty about Alexander being an orphan and was helpful." A lot of people totally did say that, though, and making it true for my modern versions has made for some good stories. Hopefully this will be no exception. 
> 
> \- When it comes to Ned's queerbending, I vastly prefer that any original female partners not be erased in the process in a world where female characters are so often underrepresented. So Stevens' irl first and second wives Eleanora and Hester are his bffs in this world. Hooray!

One must distinguish between the moment one is married and the party that follows to celebrate it. One also must consider the anxiety of one or both of the people about to be married, and how they might want to keep the critical part, the inner storm within the outer calm part, as contained as possible.

With that in mind, John Laurens and Eduardo “Ned” Stevens had agreed to cap it at 150 invitations, with the understanding that a bunch of the invites were courtesy to people who quite possibly would not be able to show. It was within their budget for a nice but not elaborate party in a rented space at a rec center. The only reason Eliza and Alexander’s reception was so elaborate was Schuyler insistence and a Washington boost. Also Ned ascribed to the Monkeysphere theory that 150 was the approximate number of people a neurotypical human could genuinely feel close to as a complete personality rather than a semi-abstract entity. Meanwhile, they would bring three witnesses each to the courthouse.

“They’re something each of us have,” John’s had explained to his therapist while discussing how he was going to keep himself on an even keel for all this. “That way it helps us decide who to bring. I don’t worry too much about, say, not having my parents there, and he doesn’t get jealous being reminded of how cool my boss is.”

(Dr. Suriyaren expressed approval of the idea, then they moved to John’s motivations for inviting Francis Kinloch. She asked him how it was going to feel to actually see his ex in person after so many years, renewed correspondence notwithstanding. Eep?)

At the moment, the three-witnesses explanation was flying less well with James “Jamie” Laurens, who was protesting not being among the chosen by lying on Martha “Missy” Laurens’ living room floor with one hand on his forehead, palm up.

“You’re not actually a Southern belle with the vapors,” Henry Laurens Jr. said, nudging him with his foot. “Come on, the reception itself is in two and a half hours. Get dressed properly and we can go there and make ourselves useful setting up chairs or something like our sister’s nice fiance is right this second.”

“I feel so underappreciated and forgotten. Leave me here to die.”

Junior told Many Other Names, Marquis de Lafayette, who was watching this tableau with a mix of amusement and concern, “You’ll have to excuse him. His girlfriend dumped him two days ago and it’s making him a drama queen.”

Lafayette was seated in an armchair, sipping sparkling water and already impeccably dressed in a tuxedo with a perfectly knotted blue bowtie and a yellow rose boutonniere. The yellow rose had red edges to the petals. This symbolized what he thought of as an 18th-century style romantic friendship with John rather than purely 21st century mainstream American ‘bromance’. “I see.”

“Junior has, like, the emotional range of a Ralph Lauren model as well as the dress sense.” Jamie waved in Junior’s direction with his non-diva hand. 

“I assume those models do not express themselves extensively.”

“You’re an aristocrat. You probably never buy anything as cheap as Ralph Lauren,” Jamie said.

“We buy quite cheap baby clothes, as Henriette grows and gets dirty a lot as she does so.” Lafayette found the brothers’ accents charming even while they squabbled, a window into how Jonathan would have spoken before his freshman year of college when he trained himself out of it, a la fellow South Carolinian Stephen Colbert. Lafayette understood that beyond family ghosts for John and Missy in particular, Southern accents could carry stigma in general. Sweet Pierre had likewise adopted an American accent very quickly, helped by how young he was at the time. Lafayette would rather lose a finger. If people looked at him askance, he intentionally thickened his accent as an act of defiance until Adrienne asked him to stop.

“Dad’s going to ask me how you behaved and I’m going to tell him you whined and flopped around.” Junior now nudged Jamie with both feet.

“Good. He’ll know how much I reject the concept of stoic heartbreak. She knew I was going to my brother’s wedding and would see him be all in love! Who does that? You’d be uncomfortable at the direct sight of very gay, such homosexual, woah, Junior, so you don’t understand this insult to my injury.”

Interesting that Junior did not deny this, and heartwarming that he was here all the same. 

“I myself have never been dumped.” Lafayette said after a thoughtful sip. “The advantage of only ever loving one woman. However, I understand how one sorrow already in your mind can magnify all others. The first few days I was in America, away from Adrienne, I shouted at a remote control when I couldn’t change the channel from a romantic comedy quickly enough.”

"It’s heartening to see you and Junior getting along after all those years of John never thinking you could exist in the same universe. I would absolutely love to see you throw a tantrum about something, Lafayette, almost as much as I would love to see Jamie never throw a tantrum ever again. Jim-Jam, Ned offered to change the rule for you and you turned it down. This is clearly a ploy for attention. You’re in college, not kindergarten.” 

“Bah, humbug,” Jamie said. 

“Scrape him off the carpet if he melds with it, please, Ramzi’s kids are visiting next week.” Martha “Missy” Laurens swept past and over to the guest bedroom, where her currently-priority brother was having a sartorial meltdown.

“I don’t understand,” John said in mild despair. “I dressed myself perfectly fine for Alexander's wedding. Suddenly it’s like I can’t find sleeves and all the buttons dodge my fingers. And I can't stop thinking about the guest list. Why did I invite almost everyone I've done group therapy with? Which includes Thomas Jefferson, when Alexander is going to be there? Why did I invite my ex? Why did neither my friend Martha nor my sister Martha nor Alexander's foster mother Martha nor acerbic teenager Martha Jefferson Jr., all involved in this process, not stop me? The Marthas have failed me.”

“Shh. You’re nervous, that’s all. My wife required not only her own sister but all three Bronte sisters to get her wedding dress on despite only needing her sister before the rehearsal.” Martha “Martian” Manning swatted John’s hands away and took over the buttons in question. Unfortunately, Jane couldn’t make it to the States right now due to a book tour for her new hit _Pomposity and Primness_ , but she’d sent a case of excellent jam. 

“I want Alexander,” John muttered.

Missy closed the door behind her and joked, “Many people have suspected that from the very beginning. I personally am glad that you’re getting hitched to someone with better mental health than you, because I think Alexander would be an adventure but also a war unless you were as stable and inhumanly wholesome as Eliza. Regardless, you’re attaching yourself to the off-brand version in less than an hour, so unless you rush to your own apartment and grab your queerplatonic pal right now it’s gonna be too late. ”

John snorted and relaxed a fraction from the icebreaking silliness. “Ha ha ha. Lafayette would say marriage is not necessarily the end of experimentation. Either way, I don’t think our spouses would approve.”

“Speaking of Jane getting help from sisters, and you’re close enough, could you help me with, uh, a strapless bra issue I’m having? I don’t wear strapless bras often but this dress has a low enough neckline that I want to be on the safe side.” 

Martian beckoned. “Turn around, Earthling. No perving on your sister.”

“There are at least five reasons why I wouldn’t,” John said, turning around. 

“Five?” Martian asked, unzipping Missy’s partially-zipped dress. 

“Yes. First, you don’t look at people unclothed without permission, unless in emergencies like they’re passed out and need medical treatment that requires clothing removal. Second, I’m not interested in naked women. Third, even if I was, I’m not interested in my naked sister. Fourth, even if I was interested in my naked sister, Ned wouldn’t like me in any way acting on this unhealthy interest. Five, one or both of you would call me out.” John actually knew someone whose late father was rumored to be attracted to his half-sister, and he wasn’t sure how he could handle having a dad like that. At least people weren’t grossed out by what had once been mixed feelings (a lot of stress and pressure, but some good too) turned into severe estrangement. Ada was impressive in coping with that, and in so many other ways.

“Damn right,” Martian said as she wrangled the hooks. “Hang on a moment, then I can get your bowtie on for you.”

“I know how to tie a bowtie.”

“Are you sure?” Missy asked. “I’m pretty sure Ned ties them for you.”

“That’s because Ned has a low-key personal-dresser kink,” Martian said cheerfully before zipping Missy’s dress all the way up.

“I really didn’t need to know that.”

A knock at the door, and when everyone announced permission, Lafayette poked his head in. “The younger siblings are yelling. Is this cause for intervention?”

“What are they yelling about?” Missy asked. “By their standards, it’s not that loud.”

“Harvard vs. Columbia, though I believe Jamie has no actual interest in Columbia and is only trying to needle Junior. The argument is being hampered by the fact that Jamie has lost his train of thought twice now.” Back when John thought he might never see Jamie again, he’d told Lafayette about Jamie’s childhood accident and its minor lingering effects. Fortunately Jamie had taken it with good humor and pointed out that Dad used to bring it up in political speeches to pull heartstrings. 

“It’s not serious unless Junior starts threatening to leave the place,” Missy said. “He doesn’t want to show it, but he’s uncomfortable because he isn’t going to know any of the guests at the reception other than his siblings, Mary Eleanor who’s like an extra sister to us, and some of our household staff who are going to probably fuss over John like nobody’s business. Nobody from his new life. At least Jamie met a few last Thanksgiving, plus he’s more liberal in views.”

“It’ll be better if you don’t hang around watching,” John said. “Join us.”

Lafayette produced another boutonniere, but this one a red rose instead. Ned’s would match. Ned had grown the red ones himself, assigned the colors, and chosen the others from a locally owned florist he loved. He’d been adorably excited to make up their own ceremonial gestures.

“May I have the honor?” Lafayette asked, holding it aloft. 

“Obviously,” John said, his scarred shoulder twinging with the ghost of the night that changed everything. 

No old, new, borrowed, and blue for them, he and Ned had decided. Instead:

1\. A lost sibling reunited by coincidence so odd it questioned their mutual skepticism about fate. For Ned, Alexander. For John, Missy. They would wear white roses, Alexander on his lapel and Missy in her hair. Alexander’s boutonniere also had a peach rose for John, a vague but beautiful in-between.

2\. The only woman each of them had ever kissed, herself a lesbian. Ned had fake-dated Hester to protect her and needed to put on a show. John and Martian had been drunk, and not just a kiss, and with fallout that nearly broke them both. They'd patched things up after such pain and time. A pink rose in Hester’s hair, another on Martian’s lapel. 

3\. A college friend who’d saved their life. Nora saved Ned from drowning, and would have a purely yellow rose in her hair. Nothing wrong with simple friendship; in fact there’s everything right about it. Lafayette - always needing to be fancy and add that red edge - saved John from suicide. 

He dreamed sometimes of Lafayette’s shout and the sudden weight of his tackle. The smash of concrete. The immense pain, the faraway mixed English-French panicked babbling and hands pressing against the wound to try to keep life in him by sheer physical force and intangible devotion. Bullet to the shoulder, his already-scarred shoulder, not in the mouth. Reduced range of movement, loss of strength, and the periodic aches in cold wet weather or from depression made physical. Small prices for a life he hadn’t wanted, or expected, and would fight to keep.

Perhaps noticing some change in John’s face, when Lafayette finished attaching the flower, he put a warm hand where he always managed to remember the scar tissue was most extensive.

“I am grateful and proud beyond any language,” Lafayette said with heartrending sincerity. 

John smiled, chest tight and expansive all at once. Then his phone chimed. Missy handed it to him.

Alexander of course. _WHAT TIME IS IT? :DD_

John texted back, all-caps meeting all-caps. _SHOWTIME!!!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for an eating disorder reference.

People associated Ned with calm. Placidity, even. While he believed he organized his thoughts and could control his responses better than average, he had his moments of turmoil. Funny that his most successful coping mechanisms were all considered feminine pursuits. He’d never felt anything other than male as a gender. It seemed stupid to let his culture’s notions of gender-appropriate keep him from baking dozens of muffins to get through a difficult week, or tending sunflowers and petite Parisian carrots on his rooftop garden, or…

“I need to take this all off right now,” Ned said.

Fully-dressed Alexander checked his watch. “We’ve got about twenty minutes, Pieface.”

“It’s worth it. I mean _all_ of it off, by the way, so you might want to turn around.”

Hester and Nora were in the spare room, either getting dressed or cooing over Cassette and Oleta the former lab rats or, knowing Nora, doing both at the same time. Ned had heard what sounded like baby talk directed at ‘ickle widdle watties’ all the way from the master bedroom.

Alexander seemed convinced that Ned was going to revert to his teenage self, specifically that time he got so overwhelmed by the magic of being at prom with dreamy show choir tenor Richie Li that he fled to the bleachers outside the gym and Alexander had to drag him back and shove him onto the dance floor. Alexander was definitely concerned about how John had hidden in a linen closet at Hercules Mulligan’s wedding because he couldn’t handle being so all-consumingly happy from being surrounded by friends and family in an accepting environment on a good mental health day. The upshot was Alexander insisting that the grooms get ready separately and with their respective witnesses as cheerleaders/babysitters.

Thing was, two days ago Alexander had been struck by another bout of his chronic Lyme disease, so he was particularly insistent on everything, while sitting as much as he could and taking as many anti-inflammatories and painkillers he could. It made it hard to deny him anything.

So Ned added, “If you’re worried about the time, after I get the panties on you can help.”

“Ohhhhhh. Okay.” Alexander turned his back.

For some men, wearing underwear marketed to women was a sexual thrill, and more power to them. Ned instead found it soothing. Part of it was the texture of the fabric. Part of it was a tangible metaphor about how he could have complicated things under the surface while everyone else saw someone quite ordinary (calm, placid). Part of it was the tightness as a grounding distraction from anything going on in his head. He could also think about when he got home and he could do a little twirl in front of the mirror before changing into sweatpants and a worn-out tee.

Once in a blue moon he wore marketed-to-women outerwear as well, but if he wanted to do that in public he had to be very careful about the venue. After the time John started a bar fight over Ned’s honor, Ned had elected to keep it at home, or friends’ homes. Alexander had been the first person Ned came out to about this, years before he came out to him about his sexuality. Funny the order things can manifest themselves in.

He kept the special drawer very neat and quickly found the set that was black with red accents. John didn’t have a kink for seeing Ned in these, but he appreciated something that looked good in the same way he would appreciate a good suit. 

Alexander sped up the clasping process for the garter belt and stockings. Ned wasn’t going to wear any form of bra or bustier and mess with the lines of his tux, so he just slipped on a silky camisole. “Probably best we never let our father know about all the times I’ve helped you put on lingerie over the years,” Alexander joked.

“When he asked me if we ever kissed and I said yes but only once, he looked ready to bang his head on the table,” Ned said, reaching for his menswear again. 

“His own damn fault for not telling us.” Alexander said, sitting back down. Eliza had made him promise to leave a cane in the car at the reception and to actually tell someone if he needed it. Right now he said it was manageable.

“If you want to kiss John before we go into the courthouse and get it out of your system, Eliza and I have agreed we’re okay with it.”

“You’re inventing all these new traditions. Keep to the Monkeysphere. Wear the Coded Rose. Invite the Ex. Kiss the QPP.” Alexander tossed Ned his bowtie.

Ned caught it in midair. “You know how I feel about tradition.”

“Your clothing choices are a subtle clue. Make sure to wear socks between your nice stockings and your dress shoes. Remember how sad you were when you damaged those secret fishnets on the first day of the Model UN trip?” Alexander himself forgot his morning medication just before the big event. Handling him had been far a more diplomatic challenge than negotiating with Model Great Britain that day. 

“Another thing that protected us from accidental incest: you know me too well,” Ned said dryly. “That’s also a reason I don’t worry about you running off with my husband.”

“You mean that I know him too well?” Alexander knew John better than anyone else did at the time, except Lafayette, within three days of meeting him. 

Ned felt much calmer now in the inside, not only looking that way on the outside. “Other way ‘round, _mijo_.” He smirked and finished dressing with four minutes to spare.

****

Alexander and John ended up walking towards each other in the parking lot, very lightly pecking on the lips, then bursting into laughter and hugging.

****

The moment the officiant said John (still Jack in private direct address, and in her head) and Ned were married, Missy burst into tears. Undignified, childish, ugly tears. Lafayette put an arm around her shoulders and whispered, “I’d lend you my handkerchief but I myself need it.” He was dabbing at his eyes. 

Lafayette was the perfect person to hang onto right now. He was the one other person present who’d had their heart absolutely shredded by Jack's suicide attempt. Who’d already loved him when they saw his fresh wound from the battle he’d tried his best to lose. Who couldn’t help but fear they’d fail him no matter their efforts.

Now Jack looked happy to the point of disbelief. He was kissing someone who treasured him like he should be, who was close enough to perfect to be worthy of him, but imperfect enough to be a relatable breathing human. Ned had an identical look on his face. Missy couldn’t stop crying.

Jack noticed after the kiss and tried to talk to her, but Martian warded him off. “You’re gonna overwhelm her.”

“There are many well-wishers outside, so let’s find a quiet place,” Lafayette suggested.

On their way out, Hester thrust a pack of tissues into Missy’s partially unzipped purse. “Gotta be prepared for my weepy hormones striking,” she said with a kind smile, patting her baby bump. Hester was pregnant and Ned was the donor, which was adorable. 

Missy and Lafayette ended up sitting on the steps of a lesser-used stairwell. She managed to quiet down but continued tearing up.

“After I saw him...I had to finish my...my shift...as a professional, you know...then I almost...Aaron knew about my eating disorder and I called him and he talked me out of purging. I was very close. I hadn’t seen John in years and then I see him like _that_.”

“You share your brother’s courage,” Lafayette said in a tone she couldn’t figure out how to contradict. He blew his nose then refolded his handkerchief, dirty side inwards, and tucked it neatly into his breast pocket. He’d gotten weepy at Alexander’s wedding as well. He was a demonstrative person, really. 

Missy no longer had a crush on him, but she remembered why she had for awhile. Not just looks. “I don’t want them to hold up the photoshoot because of us.”

“Neither do I, but you might wish to re-apply some of your makeup.” Lafayette pulled up one pant leg to scratch a bug bite with as much elegance such an action could have, then stood and helped her to her feet.

****

Everyone involved relocated to a nearby park for photos. This included a few people hadn’t been invited into the courthouse but were special enough to be in the official pictures: Ned’s parents, the younger Laurens brothers, certain significant others and children of witnesses, and Pierre. And Friedrich, who was fussing over Pierre because he had contracted bronchitis between Alexander’s wedding and this. Quite the feat.

Margarita (not Margaret like people constantly thought) “Peggy” Schuyler had taken up photography more seriously about seven months ago, though she’d taken two classes on it in college. Her parents had insisted Eliza get a professional photographer for her wedding, but John and Ned wanted a low-frills wedding and had taken Peggy up on her offer. Sybil was being a supportive girlfriend by nudging all the photographed people into position when needed. She frequently led around ponies unnerved by crowds of squealing girls; it wasn’t that different.

First there was the newly wedded couple themselves. Peggy wanted to catch them when they were close to maximum glow. Then the couple and their six witnesses. Each member of the couple and his three. Each member of the couple and each of his three. Then it got mix-and-match:

Ned, John, Alexander. 

Ned, John, Alexander, Eliza, Philip.

John, Alexander, shaking hands and winking with finger-pistol.

Ned, Alexander, holding up their hands like Ned had just won a championship. 

Ned, Hester, and Hester’s wife - Peggy didn’t catch her name, would find out later.

Ned and John with Ned’s parents. 

John, Lafayette, Adrienne, Henriette. One take only because the situation was stressful for the baby girl, so Peggy made it count. Eliza took Henriette for a moment so her parents could have a few cutesy poses with John too. During that time Pierre waved at her to reassure her that Eliza, whom she’d met but not for long, was safe. If Pierre hadn’t been sick, Peggy suspected he would have been given babysitting duties. He’d spent weeks with the family last summer and Henriette trusted him. 

Onwards to the non-sexual but nonetheless highly intimate John and Lafayette, with Lafayette behind John and his arms around him, peeking over his bad shoulder.

John, Lafayette, Alexander, and Pierre. One normal picture and one like they’d just done a group huddle and had put their hands in a pile for a final cheer. Pierre assured everyone that his cough sounded worse than it was and that their spouse - who was helping set up the reception - had all but imprisoned him to a sickbed except for class and this event.

Then the most emotion-inducing pair of pics to round it out: Jamie Laurens insisting on a photo with only him and John with the plaintive tone Peggy recognized as a fellow youngest sibling, and then the Laurens Sibling Portrait. A few regular ones, as Peggy knew the gravity of it. Then she said, “You could be silly, or you could try posing in a way that reflects your relationship.”

“Angelica put you up to this, didn’t she?” John teased before the inter-sibling negotiation began. 

After less than a minute of discussion they settled on a tableau in which Martha the Former Tech and John were in the middle, arms linked. John was clutching Jamie’s upper arm with his free hand and giving Junior uncertain side-eye. Martha was ruffling Junior’s hair. Junior was pointing accusingly at Jamie but also sneaking a glance at John with a baffled yet wistful expression. Jamie was leaning forward to the point of toppling if it wasn’t for John, and appeared to be trying to desperately tackle his sister’s waist. His necktie was still around his neck, but the loose end was clenched in his teeth.

“Angelica didn’t, though she would have a field day,” Sybil said, nudging Junior in closer. “Dude, stop looking at the RVs parked over there. Focus on the camera.”

****

Pierre Ngyuen Etienne was only in one of the photos, but he wanted to keep an eye on Lafayette after a terrible migraine kept him up more than two-thirds of the night. Instead of planned activities, Pierre had gone ahead and taken the medicine that stopped him from coughing by knocking him out, and Lafayette used him as a body pillow while Adrienne cuddled her husband in the dark. Olympe and Henriette were in the hotel room across the hall. Lafayette had asked nobody else know except Olympe for now, and joked that it was bad enough that he kind of looked like Thomas Jefferson and that becoming a habitual migraine sufferer like him, too, would be “injury to mixed compliment”. 

Lafayette gave every impression of being at full health, and murmured to both Adrienne and Pierre to stop fretting over him. Pierre was sympathetic. He had Friedrich fretting over _him_.

It wasn’t that bad. Seriously. Pierre had dropped by an urgent care clinic and picked up some medication in both pill and inhaler form. The doctor said it was a positive sign when he started expelling phlegm, as gross as it was. Getting frowned at every time he coughed wasn’t adding anything to the experience. 

When Sybil told Junior to stop looking at the recreational vehicles in the distance, though, Friedrich stopped watching Pierre and looked up, following Junior’s line of sight. Then he stopped. Took a breath. Lightly brushed fingers over the scar on the back of Pierre’s neck, which he’d taken to doing before moments of talking about, or worse reverting to, Pre-America Friedrich. 

“Stay here,” he told Pierre. 

“Mm,” Pierre said uneasily. 

Apparently forgetting yet again that for complex reasons Pierre had picked up decent German comprehension in the past year, Friedrich muttered as he stalked towards one of the RVs: “ _Ferngläser._ ”

Binoculars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For significant chunks of the war, though thankfully not all at once, the following was happening:
> 
> \- Laurens recovering from a severe shoulder injury two times over (as we know).
> 
> \- Lafayette in terrible, nearly deadly fever and migraines for a month, with Washington distressed and distracted and watching him in his sleep when he had time. Washington had already impressed/unnerved people with his intensity much earlier when Lafayette got a bullet wound to the leg. 
> 
> \- Hamilton suffering from resurgences of symptoms from childhood malaria.
> 
> \- Du Ponceau in the throes of tuberculosis. On multiple occasions, von Steuben stashed him with nice people in a safe place to recover, literally having tears in his eyes as he said goodbye to his aide, whom almost everyone was sure was going to die soon. During one bout when von Steuben visited him, he successfully demanded to not be left behind anymore and said he'd rather die by his Baron's side. (One might say he stopped wasting time causing tears and lived another sixty years.)
> 
> Guess what? They still won.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should be able to get everything fine without it, but this chapter makes some references to ["and hold your tongue"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9142921/chapters/20772706), which a spinoff fic in the same timeline rather than directly part of this series. It follows Pierre and his significant others through what is a Mob/Spy AU in addition to a Modern/Psych.

Given data Pierre had learned over the course of their relationship, he was sure that if Friedrich thought Pierre was in danger this voyeur would end up gutted with a Swiss Army knife. Pierre wasn’t even Friedrich’s primary partner anymore, but Benjamin Walker was older, healthier, and stronger than Pierre, and wasn’t such a trouble magnet. Pierre needed to defuse the situation. He nudged Adrienne and whispered that Friedrich was having a flashback and Pierre was going to go calm him down. She nodded. He didn’t start running until he was out of her sight. 

Friedrich didn’t even notice Pierre’s breathless approach. He was busy brandishing a Swiss Army knife (see?) at a man in his early sixties, maybe. The voyeur was shrinking into a collapsible travel wheelchair, the kind people might use away from home when they can walk a bit but not far. “If you’d just calm down, sir, I can explain…”

Pierre analyzed three fundamental things at the exact same time, and he came to a stop and gasped all in one rush, _“Friedrich old white guy with a face like that and an accent like that and a motive to be here don’t be stupid that’s John’s father!”_

Then he crouched down on all fours to the welcoming grass because wow, his body really wanted to expel a lot of phlegm now, was that good? He wished the coughing didn’t hurt. Okay, maybe this had been a bad idea.

The man got out of his chair while Friedrich was torn about what to do next, and wheeled it over to Pierre. “Heavens, son, that can’t be comfortable. I’ll be fine without it for a spell.”

This was weird on a number of levels, but it was true, so Pierre climbed into it and got out a tissue to cough into instead of being so gross. When he had the air, he asked, “Am I right?”

“Could we talk on the far side of the vehicle?”

“That’s a yes.”

Henry Laurens Sr. nodded. Friedrich narrowed his eyes but pushed en-chaired Pierre to an angle that would hide them from the photo shoot.

“Explain,” Friedrich said. 

Henry leaned against the RV, gripping the binoculars hanging around his neck. His seersucker shirt, khakis, and loafers were all snappy and clean, but he looked frail and tired. “They did send me an invitation, I suspect as a passive-aggressive gesture, and I never explicitly said I wouldn’t come. Junior’s looking after me on the sly. The others think he’s staying in a motel while Jamie’s taking John’s couch to spend more time with him. I understand a female friend of John’s is taking the spare room.”

John and Ned weren’t doing a honeymoon right away because neither could be spared from work, but they were going to spend September in the U.K. and E.U. with a few obligatory visits to friends there. Ned had worked during multiple holidays to earn this, and thankfully John’s boss was one of the wedding guests and a shipper on deck.

“Right, Junior, because…because…” The others were polite enough to wait for Pierre to finish his sentence. “You nearly died and John was the only bone marrow match and Jamie begged him to donate, but that still only gives you, like, five to ten more years, all of them still being treated medically. So you need to be looked after.”

Friedrich raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t hear about this.”

“John and I are rather close, Mr. Laurens, and your daughter helped treat me during a difficult time,” Pierre said as neutrally as he could. Back when his echolalia was so severe he had trouble saying several original sentences in a row and his tics pervasive and often involving helpless imitation. Back when he’d wake from nightmares near-mute and wander to the psych ward common area, and there she’d be and not fix it, but make it better.

“So I’m the villain in your history,” Henry concluded, with a sigh.

Pierre coughed some more, then remembered his temporary inhaler was in his messenger bag, so he took it out for a puff. “Bronchitis. My doctor said I’m no longer contagious.”

“I have a weakened immune system, so it’s best we not shake hands all the same,” Henry said. 

“Martha says Junior wipes things down with alcohol before he lets you touch them.” Pierre had to laugh for a second at the strangeness of speaking to this man of all people. Briefly, but enough that the Real Adults stared at him. “Sorry.”

“The question remains: why are you here?” Friedrich asked quietly, though not completely calmly. As long as his verbal tics were absent, not simply minimized by the new therapy he’d started, this meant hyperfocus. Potential danger.

“Junior was driving up in any case, and I decided to use the opportunity to arrange a meeting with Dr. George Washington tomorrow morning. And I…” Henry cleared his throat. “Was curious.”

“What happened despite you?” Friedrich asked. Only recently had Friedrich started telling Pierre the truth about his twenties and thirties. Pierre still knew almost nothing about his life before that. His tone hinted at shadows.

Henry settled onto a tree stump. He stared into the middle distance. “I never wanted him to die. I wanted what I’ve always wanted for him, which was the best. And for me that meant for him to be what I wanted him to be. I’m a proud man. By which I mean an arrogant man. I get no satisfaction from that fit of passion when I drove him away. It was a bluff to get him to do what was best for him. Or, again, at least what I thought was best. He called my bluff. I had to tell his sister and brothers something. I’m a proud man, and I did what proud men do when called to task.”

“What?” Pierre asked.

Friedrich looked at Pierre like he was still an innocent kid rather than a twenty-one-year-old who’d seen some serious shit since nineteen. “Lie.”

“When his friend called from the hospital, I told myself that I’d declined to get involved because I didn’t want to unbalance him further. Afterwards, I told myself that he had no need. When he came back offering to save my life, I accused him of selfishly looking for a reward. Because that would be better, you see, for a proud man.”

Pierre put back the inhaler and took a mini water bottle from his bag. “I heard.” Neutrally.

“I just saw all four of them celebrating a union I can’t approve of. I’ve also never seen the four of them smile and laugh like that together since their mother died. I’ve been proven wrong. Whatever might happen to their souls, everything I predicted about their mortal futures has been defied. The emperor has no clothes.”

After a period of listening to a bunch of kids yelling in a nearby playground, Friedrich asked, “Are you going to flash everyone, then?”

“What?”

“What he means is, ‘Are you going to let people know?’” Pierre said. “In his place, I’d want to be asked first.”

“Why are…[inintelligible]...you meeting with Washington?” Friedrich pulled out the blades, corkscrew, and tweezers one at a time, then folded them back in. Back to normal for him. The Tourette’s could reach him now. The pause in his sentence had been where he’d been learning to let the unwelcome words out as mumbles rather than bellows.

“Ask Washington,” Henry replied, eyeing him curiously.

“Okay, but if in seven days John still has no clue about all this, I’m gonna tell him,” Pierre said.

Henry stroked his chin. “Ah.”

“Though I’ll also tell him you were kind to me. He’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Excuse me?”

But Pierre could hear Adrienne calling. “You’ll have to ask him, Mr. Laurens. Lots of asking will be asked. Thank you for the chair and your honesty. We’re wanted elsewhere.”

****

Photo time over, Missy slipped over to Junior and said, “I need to talk to you in private for a sec.”

Junior’s stomach twisted. “Um, okay.” He followed her to behind a tree out of earshot of the main crowd.

“Care to explain why a car I know belongs to Dad is right over there?” Missy was shorter than him these days, but she used to be much taller and Junior was struck by the feeling.

“Cheaper for me to stay in.”

“And you lied about that because…”

“I’m an adult. I don’t have to explain my actions to you.”

She folded her arms. “I will tell every single one of John’s guests about the time your nose itched and you shoved the wheelbarrow piece from our Monopoly set up your nostril and didn’t tell anyone about the pain until the next morning because you were so embarrassed.”

“Martha!”

“And about the time you convinced Jamie that earthworms would taste just like gummy worms but fresher.”

“Aw, c’mom.”

“And the time you stole gum from the drugstore and in the middle of the night shook me awake in a panic, asking how long people go to jail for that.”

Junior gritted his teeth. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“Dad came with you, didn’t he?” When Junior said nothing, she groaned. “What’s he planning?”

“It’s unfair of y’all being so critical of how I handle Dad when I’m the one who has to keep putting my own life on hold to be by his side. John gets a pass for his difficult situation and saving him when I couldn’t, so I smile and nod when he oversimplifies and tells me not to let Dad walk all over me. But Jamie pesters me about my behavior as a son as well as a million other things I have or haven’t done, and you - you promised last fall you’d lend me a hand, for my sake if not his. And you haven’t. I know you’re busy, but you said you would, and you haven’t.”

Missy stared at him with such shock and guilt that he almost regretted saying it. Then she uncrossed her arms, face softened. “You’re right. I admit fault and I’m sorry. That’s something you deserve to express and be heard. I will work with you to address the problem. That said, we have another issue to resolve right now.”

That was more generous than he’d expected. Must have been all her training. “Under threat of tiny wheelbarrow?”

“Yup.”

“The place where John went and you worked until recently - Dad made a donation equalling the amount of money it would have cost John to go there if he hadn’t been sponsored. But before Dad donates anything anywhere he does research first, right? He found out that the place has been under some strain after a legal dispute with some super wealthy patrons that were a source of reliable funding.” Junior glanced towards the area where they’d been taking the pictures. Everyone was going or gone except Jamie, Peggy, and Sybil. Jamie waved at him. Junior made a one-minute-please sign.

“As you were saying?” Missy prompted, even more softly.

“So this evening he’s meeting with the psychiatrist who diagnosed John, who recently got voted unanimously to run the place…” Junior lost his thread for a moment.

Missy bought him time. “Dr. Washington was honored but not thrilled. There’s nobody better suited to the job. He’s doing it for his people. They’re hoping to hire a new psychiatrist because the remaining ones are now stretched thin, but the money isn’t there without hiking up patient fees and completely abandoning sponsorships and sliding scales.”

“Hah, yeah. Well. About that. Jamie doesn’t know about the meeting or Dad’s presence, but when Dad made the first donation I talked to Jamie and we agreed on something.” Junior felt like his necktie was too tight. He started undoing the knot. “You gave up your entire inheritance to be there for John. We’re onboard with Dad spending a chunk of ours while he’s still alive. For the people who were there for John. Who can be there for others.”

It was obvious. If it hadn’t been for them, John would never have come home. Junior would have carried misplaced hatred for decades more. Missy would have stayed estranged. Jamie would be sinking further and further into rebellion for rebellion’s sake. Dad would have died months ago. 

“Oh,” Missy said, then engulfed him. 

He’d always secretly wanted more of her hugs. This was a good example why. A good _oof_.

“This doesn’t mean John is obligated to reconnect with him,” Missy said, still hugging. 

“I know.” _Don’t let go yet._

“If Dad’s banking on fixing a lifetime of serious interpersonal problems by throwing money at them…”

“He has no intention of anyone telling John. Is that the best way?” Seeing that Junior’s misplaced decade of resentment hadn’t ruined John’s life or their potential to be real brothers again was as precious and fragile as a newly cooled glass ornament. Pointed and crystalline.

Missy kissed Junior on the temple, like in the years between Mami leaving for Heaven and Junior leaving for boarding school, like it was the nanny’s day off and his big sister was tucking him into bed. “There are times when I wish I was a therapist and had training to answer questions like that.”

****

Sybil had volunteered to drive John’s sister and brothers to the reception so that Martha could finish her moment of drama with Junior without holding anyone up. Now Jamie was sitting on the right of the backseat, Junior on the left, and Martha in the middle.

“I’m setting up a DropBox where everyone can go download whatever pictures they want,” Peggy said as Sybil started the car.

“Cool,” Jamie said with enthusiasm so low it dipped into negative. His brother and sister were simply quiet.

An awkward silence followed. Sybil turned on some music. 

_...The highwayman came riding, riding, riding, the redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still…_

“Let’s go to something not based on a poem about a woman sacrificing herself to warn a man about redcoats coming for him,” Peggy said, skipping to the next song.

Sybil laughed. “Sorry, Will made me a mix CD after I drove him home a few times.”

Peggy was less amused. “Wait, William Plunkett, on parole for armed robbery, horse theft, and _carjacking_?”

Jamie sounded all perky again. “This I gotta hear.”

“It’s no big deal. We already have a program for troubled youths to get fresh air and foster responsibility and self-esteem and so on, right? My boss thought it would be a good move to hire a guy who’s already good with horses -”

“HE STOLE ONE.” Peggy was always the kind of goodie-two-shoes who would be home by sundown if Daddy said to be, bless her.

“...And could maybe empathize with them better than someone who hasn’t been there. He teaches them in tandem with a regular employee. When the schoolgirls come see us, I go be their girl power role model, and we send him to muck out the stables. He’s a gentleman. He’s changed his ways.”

“You’re driving too fast, Syb, we’re in a school zone.” Peggy’s tone said she was going to pursue the subject of her parolee coworker later. 

Sybil slowed down. Relationships are about compromise. Jamie made an odd noise. “You okay, buddy?”

“I’m deleting a bunch of texts from the girl who just dumped me. Everyone but Junior, is there something wrong with me?”

“I feel censored,” Junior said.

“Good. I feel censured.”

“You are flawed a normal human amount in your own unique combination,” Martha said. 

Peggy reached behind her and patted Jamie’s hand. “I broke an engagement once, not because Steve was a bad person, but because I realized our lives were going in different directions and what we wanted for ourselves was incompatible long-term.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Sybil, in turn, put a hand on Peggy’s leg. For just a moment, though, to keep her from wailing about Sybil not having both hands on the wheel.

Peggy turned to face forward. “It’ll feel like the end of the world for awhile. But one day it won’t hurt, and you might even be willing to talk to her again.”

****

“Sorry, am I late? I didn’t sleep at all on the flight and I got here at stupid o’clock last night, and did you know that the passport inspector or whatever is like, so where’d you fly from and I told him and he’s like cool, were you on vacation and I’m like oh, no, I live there, and he acts all surprised and I’m kinda tired right so I snap dude do you think it’s all lily-white in a city where there’s a bazillion international organizations? And in all the fuss I actually put my passport in the wrong pocket and spent more than an hour after I get to the hotel looking for it, maybe panicking a little because my wife has enough on her plate, but I found it and managed to get, I don’t know, three hours of sleep. I really hope this is the right place, actually. Is this the venue for the wedding reception of John Laurens?”

Of the several people staring, one woman in a sort of coral-colored dress said, “The grooms will be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Yessssss, score, I’m not late, thank you so much, ma’am.” 

One man in what looked like a purple velvet suit, what the hell, said, “Dear God, he’s like Hamilton.” Whatever that meant.

And a serious-faced boy cleared his throat and held up a clipboard with a few sheets of paper and pen. “You can’t be in the party unless you’re on the list.”

“Sorry, let me get right on that.” He found his name quickly and signed in both print and cursive. His signature had gotten arcane. “You’re real on-the-ball. What’s your name?”

“Payne. I’m helping today.”

“Nice. I’m hoping you don’t spell it P-A-I-N. Or maybe I’m hoping you do.”

“Only online.” Payne took back the list and peered at it. “Okay, Mr. Kinloch, you can mingle now. Mom says everyone’s going to mingle.”

“Awesome,” Francis said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- When Baron von Steuben first arrived in America, he took his interpreter with him for meetings with Congress, among other things about funding to Washington's army. Du Ponceau later wrote that Henry Laurens was very kind to him.
> 
> \- Laurens actually received letters from his father that may come across as veiled urges against suicide.
> 
> \- Highwayman William Plunkett was featured in ["Three Years to Go"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8922949/chapters/20438806). To avoid the gallows he turned in his partner in crime, and ended up in America. There are various rumors of someone matching his description living to a virtuous old age.
> 
> \- John Laurens destroyed most of the letters he received after reading them. Historians have only found significant numbers from his father, Hamilton, and Kinloch. He and John were fellow South Carolinians studying in Switzerland together before Henry Sr. directed John to continue his studies in England, despite John requesting another year. One of the letters from Kinloch after he got married and wanted to distance himself emotionally arrived in England nine months before the birth of Frances Laurens. (That's really not a good way to deal with heartbreak/gay panic, sweetie.) Near the end of his life, Laurens did reconcile with Kinloch, who had switched sides from Loyalist to Patriot in the meantime. Yeah, politics were a factor in the breakup, too.


	4. Chapter 4

John had invited everyone from his first week at Vernon except for George King. That would have been difficult on multiple levels. Sam was keeping tabs on George all the way in England. Charlotte King had given him contact information as part of reparations, and helped Sam out financially back when he was looking for a new job. Sam said George’s condition had degenerated, making him less violent but also less lucid, and making institutionalization the norm rather than the exception. Even with what George had done, that was pretty sad. Angelica Schuyler said statistically, nine of ten given psych ward patients all doing this well more than two years later was still a huge win.

Everyone else had made it, and were among the guests all ready to greet the newlyweds and their retinue when they got to the reception hall.

Benjamin Franklin had scrounged up a snazzy waistcoat for the occasion and was flirting with one of the caterers, a woman in her late fifties who seemed amused at the attention though not immediately smitten.

John Jay and his wife Sarah were sitting in a corner. Jay was having a poor mental health day and saving up his energy for the important social moments. It was important to him to be here, though. He watched the room and answered Sarah’s questions about the people therein.

Meriwether Lewis was sitting at the same table, only slightly less in the corner. He had a parcel wrapped in brown butcher paper on which he had sketched various pairs of animals that mate for life. He watched the room and refused to answer anyone’s questions about the item therein. His platonic plus-one Sacagawea was off talking to one of Ned's cousins, though she kept glancing over at him to make sure he was doing okay.

Samuel Seabury was preemptively mingling and saying hello to everyone before the party truly started. This almost turned into a debate with Thomas Jefferson on historical mistranslations of the Bible, but Dolley Madison dragged Thomas away by the upper arm. “You promised your daughter.”

Patsy had been asked to be in change of the music again, and was already playing the quiet, unobtrusive initial part of a big pre-negotiated playlist. Thomas gave her a quick glance to make sure she was serenely engrossed in setting up her separate system for taking requests before he gave Dolley a quick peck on the lips. He let himself to be guided to sit next to James “Jemmy” Madison, who stopped fussing with the flowers in the center of the table and placed a gloved hand on his.

  
Dolley, James, and Thomas had decided to use this occasion to test the waters of casually coming out as a triad, though the Madisons would have to stay closeted in that regard at work,”unlike certain rich idiots who don’t need a day job to live”. They’d asked their respective children if they’d be okay with Thomas holding hands with or kissing to Madisons exactly the same way the Madisons would with each other. Since being told, Payne had been easygoing about the entire relationship, saying he much preferred getting an additional dad in a way that didn’t require the previous one dying or leaving. This development didn’t bother him. Martha “Patsy” Jefferson Jr. had initially gotten into a snits about her family being EVEN WEIRDER than having lost her mom and every single one of her siblings by the time she barely more than a toddler. But she had eased into it over the months since. She gave her blessing for low-key PDA between her dad and Payne’s parents during this specific event - in exchange for her dad not fighting with anybody. At all. Even a little.

Especially with Alexander Hamilton.

Which was good, because dear God, Francis Kinloch talked like Alexander Hamilton on adequate medication but inadequate sleep. His natural sharp, impish handsomeness of vague racial background was seriously hampered by exhaustion raccoon-eyes and a crooked necktie. “So is this free seating or arranged seating or the kind of technically free but actually there are invisible battle lines and borders, like in a classroom?”

“You can sit with us,” Payne asserted, patting the backs of one of the chairs. “Patsy’s the D.J.”

Showing some understanding of child psychology, Francis looked to Dolley for confirmation. Dolley gestured at the chair. “If you’d like to sit here, Francis, you certainly may. And we won’t be insulted if you change your mind later.”

Francis placed his bag on the floor and took a seat. There was a clear line of sight from his spot to the open doorway where the VIPs would enter soon. “I’m so nervous I think I might throw up,” he said.

James cleared his throat. “I assume this is hyperbole. If it isn’t, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Sympathetic type, huh?” Francis asked with a rueful smile of solidarity. “Don’t worry, it’s hyperbole. I literally couldn’t get away from the office for longer than three days, including transit. I’ve got one of those jobs where weekends stop being weekends, though at least I get decent vacation time?”

“What do you do?” Thomas asked.

“I’m with one of the human rights advocacy groups of the U.N. In Geneva. And I haven’t seen John Laurens in person since we broke up so I could go finish college abroad and ended up never coming back.” A passing server came by with a tray of drinks (non-alcoholic, you had to pay for booze) and Francis grabbed one at random and took a swig.

“Whaaat.” Thomas realized that might be taken in the wrong spirit, so he added, “It’s just that I would never, ever, ever invite an ex to my wedding. Though I admit this may be largely because I’ve seriously embarrassed myself in front of all the still-living ones.”

“Patsy says you jumped a fence so a lady would think you were cool and you unlocated your wrist,” Payne said.

“Dislocated,” Jemmy corrected automatically before his brain caught up and he turned to stare. “When was this?”

Thomas’ unexpected salvation came from a newly arrived member of the photography party. Pierre had overheard the exchange and made his way over. “Just the one wrist?”

“Uh huh. Nice glasses.” Nice clear speech, too, but Thomas knew better than to say so in mixed company.

“Thanks. I forgot we hadn’t seen each other since before I started wearing them.” Pierre took a seat and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve dislocated both my wrists and both my shoulders. All at once.”

“Fibber!” Payne said, eyes wide.

A sleek, fey creature Thomas had met but knew little about slipped behind Pierre’s chair and put an affectionate, lightly possessive hand on his shoulder. “Is this a story you want to be telling people, Sweet P?”

“It’s the version of _the climbing accident_ suitable for public consumption,” Pierre said, twisting to kiss that hand. Sickeningly cute. “I think this is John’s old flame Francis. Isn’t that neat?”

Francis gave Chev a little wave and took in the coat with tails, subtle but discernable makeup, layered bob haircut, eldredge-knot necktie, and carefully draped amalgam of curves and angularity. Wisely, he asked, “What are your pronouns?”

Chev smiled. “They/them. I have people to talk to, but if you’ll indulge my husband’s enthusiasm for both storytelling and cheerful interrogation, he can represent me in this conversation just fine.” They darted off to go be mysterious somewhere else.

“Let me just say how thrilled I am that John’s world has opened up so much,” Francis said, watching Chev’s retreat.

Then Pierre coughed - turning away and into his elbow - and all hypochondriac Jemmy did was wince, not flee.

Worlds opening up.

****

Still more there, still more filing in, there for John or Ned or in rarer cases both.

Angelica could not enjoy herself at grownup events if her kids were underfoot - they were too much like she’d been as a child - so she’d taken up Molly Pitcher-Sampson and Deborah Pitcher-Sampson on their offer to take Pip and Kit on a kid-appropriate paintballing adventure. Those two loved kids as long as they could give them back at the end of the day. Her husband would have been happy to look after them, but he was on another business trip to London. She was going to spend her time talking, eating, dancing, and believing just this once, for at least one person, she had done enough.

She decided to colonize a new table and let the rest of the seats fill up as they would. The only Vernon staff invited were ones connected to the couple in other ways, such as Dr. Washington because Ned had spent all high school in and out of the Washington home. John was fond of many others but wasn’t entirely at ease having them around for his own party.

This resulted in her being surprised at the arrival of former Vernon nurse Hercules Mulligan, current Vernon nurse Cato BlankingOnHisLastNameOopsCringe, and former part-time Vernon tech Israel B - something. Dammit. Bismuth? No, that was an element. She was also delighted but mystified by the velvety hooded cloaks they had donned over their formalwear. Cato and Israel had cardboard swords. Hercules’ wife Elsie was with them too, in a conventional dress and heels and an indulgent smile.

“Are you alright with sharing a table with three-fifths of the Duskling Fellowship?” Elsie asked, jerking a thumb at the trio. “They’re pranking John and Martha.”

Hercules said loftily, “Excuse you, m’lady, this is a sincere show of support for our our party’s fighter, Sabre the Doubtless, having a new spouse.”

“And Chanterelle, druid, consequently gaining a brother-in-law,” Israel added. “Alexander knows them both really well. He said John would dig it and Ned wouldn’t mind.”

“Five blessed little nerds take up our kitchen roughly once a week, you see,” Elsie said, snagging a drink from a passing server. Israel claimed two glasses of water and handed one to Cato. They shared a small, cozy smile.

“Please, sit, you’ve made my day even better. I knew Hercules’ custom jobs include clothes for historical re-enactments and LARP-ing and and such, but I didn’t know you did this too. I think it’s great.” Angelica waited for them to choose their seats before she asked, “If John’s Sabre the Doubtless and if Martha’s a druid named after a mushroom, which I suppose is appropriate given the nature aspect, what are you three?”

Israel had a gulp of water first. “I’m Amalthea, Ranger and the leader. Also I have a badass fighting unicorn that doesn’t care about virginity but requires purity of heart in riders. Cato is Domingo, a Halfling. Hercules is Dungeon Master, but we call him the Voice of Fate in-game.”

Francis Kinloch, whom Angelica had noticed making the rounds and talking to people who knew John, slipped into an empty seat. “What morality alignment did John pick?”

“Who are you?” Cato asked, raising an eyebrow.

That’s when John entered the room, saw the Fellowship, and started laughing. “Somebody take a picture! I love you guys.”

Then he noticed Francis. He stopped laughing. He looked like he’d seen Amalthea’s unicorn munching on a salad in the middle of the room.

****

John looked good. Really good. Leanly muscled and bright-eyed, confident in his stance and his walk. His suit was fitted well, the rose pinned to it a pop of fresh scarlet. He’d grown his hair longer, though he was currently tying it back. His new wedding ring was silvery in color rather than gold.

Francis had excellent impulse control. In his professional life. In his personal life, less so. He ran at John and threw his arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really really really sorry,”

John, after a moment of shock, hugged back. “You can stop apologizing for that goddamn email. It was years ago. I’ve said we’re friends now. Believe it.”

They’d already broken up to set Francis free before he went to study in Europe, but there came a time when his new girlfriend expressed jealousy about his frequent correspondence with an ex. Also, John’s depression had become exhausting for Francis to support and comfort. It was far more exhausting even than their former relationship’s cycle of fighting over politics or their personal demons, and then copious makeup sex until they could have a few days of peace and sweetness. So Francis had sent The Email. The one John replied to with incredible hurt, then years of silence. Years in which Francis came to agree with a lot of what John had said. When they started talking again, John was less interested in talking politics and more focused on the personal demons. Francis had matured in the meantime and wished he’d handled things differently.

“I just feel like if I’d been there for you, even at a distance, maybe you wouldn’t have…” Francis couldn’t say the rest of it. _Tried to shoot yourself. Oh God._

John squeezed tighter. “Martian said stuff like that for ages. We agreed she’d cut it out.”

“I’m not crying, you’re crying.” If all else failed, memes.

“Let’s face it, we’re both crying a little bit. It’s okay.”

Ned coughed. Francis nearly leapt backwards. But Ned reached out to shake hands. “Thank you.”

“Huh?” Francis shook hands even as he shook inside. A teensy bit.

“You mended fences. That means a lot to John. You helped make him who he is now. I like who he is now.”

“Oh. Wow. Welcome, I guess.” Francis let go. He was filled with so much emotion that of course he had to ask one of the least relevant questions possible. “What are your rings made of?”

John grinned. ["Ironwood on the inside, because Ned loves gardening and plants. Hand-hammered titanium on the outside. Because…”](https://img0.etsystatic.com/137/2/8610810/il_340x270.956591112_ep4t.jpg)

Lafayette swept in like a crisp breeze. And bowed. Smooth, implausibly charming show-off like he’d always been. “Because John is bulletproof, fire away, fire away, shoot John down, he has not fallen. Et cetera. From the song. It is so good to see you again, Francis, shall we catch on - “

“Catch ‘up’, Gilbert, with the ‘on’ is a different action,” visibly pregnant, lovely-as-always Adrienne said. She winked at Francis while toting their adorable sleepy baby. Time was a trip in many senses of the word.

“Yes, thank you. While we allow the rest of the guests a chance to cluster about? I believe there is what resembles a hugging queue forming.” Lafayette gestured behind Francis and Francis realized a lot of people were watching them. Whatever, if John and Ned were okay with it he didn’t care.

“I promise I’ll find you when things have died down and we’ll talk, just you and me.” John gave Francis an extra half-hug before giving others their turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pierre emphasizes the words "climbing accident" because he's reassuring Chev he'll be telling the cover story, not what really happened to him [in their big spinoff fic. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9142921/chapters/20772706)
> 
> Angelica's first two children irl were named after her parents, so to avoid confusion I have given them unique nicknames for the AU. 
> 
> If you haven't read it, there's a one-shot about [The Duskling Fellowship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7394029) that chronicles Sabre the Doubtless' first fantasy adventure, part of which is based on an actual mission led by Laurens.


	5. Chapter 5

Lewis waited for the initial rush of greetings to end before he made his way to the newlyweds, holding out his parcel. John looked at it and said, “You know we said no gifts, right?”

“I noticed that you took the time to make the invitations in a large sans serif double-spaced font,” Lewis said. “But I checked with your sister. She said you two would make an exception for this.”

Ned smiled at Lewis and said, “I can bear the brunt of it for awhile.”

“I am resentful of those words,” joked a young woman who looked a bit like Ned, and who had a Puerto Rican accent. She started gushing at Ned in rapid Spanish. Lewis left them to it.

John headed for the easily wheelchair-accessible table that was designated for a disabled uncle of Ned’s who hadn’t shown up yet. Right now this made it a good spot to unwrap the present.

“I like the monogamous animals, especially the prairie voles,” John said as he undid the tape with utmost care.

“You know my weakness for prairie animals. Relax, I photocopied and also scanned this before using it as wrapping paper, don’t worry about tearing it.” Lewis had been in a depressive funk while working on this and it had been a welcome distraction. Today was somewhat better.

“I don’t tear wrapping paper of any kind,” John replied with dignity. Then he saw what it was and gaped.

The first edition of _O the Bay!_ had no overt mention of John whatsoever, despite his many contributions to the wildlife illustrations and extensive shaping of the text. What with the first drafts all being done by a man who’d since become a role model for dyslexics nationwide, it had gone beyond normal editing duties. The secrecy had been because of John’s fear that his emotionally abusive father would find him through it and track him down. Since publication, though, dynamics in his family had changed and that fear was gone.

“It’s a mockup of a proposed second edition, now that things are a bit different for you, I hired a temp for a few weekends to help me put it together. We don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want.”

John underlined the words on the cover as he read them. “You added a line underneath your name: _with John Laurens._ Oh.”

“We’ve talked about it before in a vague sense. I thought it was time to be less vague. Your name is still hidden inside some of the artwork. It’d be too hard to take out and it’s a fun bonus for sharp-eyed readers. There’s now explicit attribution at the bottom of each illustration that was mostly you with touchups from me, rather than the other way around. If you’d like, we could also add a short bio in the About the Author section. We never gave you proper credit for the credit you gave me.” Lewis flipped to some of the pages in question and pointed. “Especially when you want to move on in your career. Your achievements should be better known.”

“If, not when. I like working with you. Not planning on stopping anytime soon.” John fidgeted. “May I hug you?”

Considering how their work relationship and friendship had nearly fallen apart over Lewis’ former attraction to John, this was a big deal. Okay, not fully “former”, but him and Clark figuring out their baggage and Clark embracing his own bisexual aspects had really helped. There wasn’t that guilty, miserable pull like there used to be. “I like that it’s you asking me,” Lewis said, hugging him.

Then John turned and yelled, “Jamie! Junior! Missy! You gotta see this!”

Sacagawea sidled up to Lewis while the Laurens siblings were examining the book in triumph and delight. Lewis noted absently that Martha and Jamie addressed John as ‘Jack’. “You didn’t need to worry so much, Meri, I knew it’d be a hit.”

“I need to thank Clark again for his help finding a book-binding service at short notice so I only had two panic attacks over it instead of four or more,” Lewis said. Clark wouldn’t have wanted to come anyway, seeing as several guests only knew of him in the context of indirectly causing Lewis’ suicide attempt a lifetime ago. Clark was enjoying a visitation weekend. Taking the kids camping, naturally.

“You are such a fussbudget. The fact you’re alive is a miracle.” She tapped his arm. “Oh, hey, I met a guy you might actually be able make friends with. He’s talking to Sam by the potted fern right now, dressed in brown? He’s been the Laurens family gardener for decades, but he is really into botany and genetics. And he’s very sweet. Talk to him.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Lewis said warily.

She clicked her tongue. “If I see you get within a foot of the cash bar I will drag you off the premises.”

“Fair enough.” Lewis caught Ned’s eye and friendly gesture and waved back. Then he went to try. One of the reasons he’d developed an alcohol problem in the first place was to dodge his shyness. Time to fight it the real way.

Turned out Greg Mendel knew a lot about peas, but even better, knew about John as a kid.

****

Jamie met and greeted a lot of people, prioritizing the ones he’d heard of from Jack and Missy’s stories. The buffet opened but he could get food later. He had people to thank. He was aware that Missy was the only other person who still called him Jack (not counting Junior’s occasional moments), and only when she was directly addressing him or talking about him with certain close people. He couldn’t help it, though. Jack was Jack. He’d gone away when Jamie was ten, and Jamie’s child mind had frozen him there. He wasn’t using either name right now, to avoid confusion for others and dissonance for himself.

Handshakes as seemed to be a thing, just nods or little bows if they seemed not to be welcome.

“Thank you for being a flexible and undestanding boss for my brother, Mr. Lewis.”

“Thank you for diagnosing my brother, Dr. Washington.”

“Thank you for comforting my brother his first night in the hospital, Hercules.”

“Thank you for...um...you know...Lafayette. I’m gonna keep saying it. Can I hold your baby?” _No, sorry, she likes few people holding her. But you are most welcome._

“Thank you for opening your home to my brother when he felt like he didn’t have any, Adrienne.”

“Thank you for letting my brother vent to you sometimes and always making him laugh, Pierre.”

“Thank you for being his therapist for a while but then not being weird about it when you ended up kinda related, Angelica.”

“Thank you for encouraging him in art therapy, Peggy.” _You already thanked me with those exact words._  “I’m making the rounds geographically, not linearly! I did not just make that up!”

“Thank you for noticing when my brother wasn’t good at noticing his shoulder was in pain, and always treating him like an equal, and, and being supportive of that thing he’s got with Alexander, Eliza. Also OMG your baby is so cute, his name’s Philip right can I hold him hi Philip hiiiiii.”

“You got ADD, dude?” asked the teenage girl acting as DJ.

Before anyone else said anything, Jamie said with tight, constructed cheerfulness, “Nah, just brain damage.”

But she simply shrugged and replied. “I guess you look pretty good considering? I just wanted to know if anyone else here could spot me. I forgot my Adderall at the house.”

Her dad(?) marched up to look askance at her. “I’m sorry about that, Mini Laurens. Patsy, why didn’t you say anything? Because _I_ brought some for you!”

“Huh, I wasn’t expecting the conversation to take that turn,” Jamie said, holding his arms out for Philip, who held his arms out right back. “Is he singing?”

“We teach him songs but he always changes the lines,” Eliza said with a smile, settling Philip into John’s arms.

****

“Alexander Hamilton. My name is Alexander Hamilton. Is this thing on?” A horrible screech and then yes, the microphone was on. “Hello, hello, hello! We’re not going to do speeches or anything, don’t be afraid, but as you continue to eat the dance music is starting up. One of the few traditions this reception’s keeping is a first dance. John picked the first dance music for my wedding, so I’m picked this one. We good, Patty?”

“As long as you never call me that again!” Patsy shouted with a thumbs-up. Mixed messages. Like her father, but more endearing.

“For a long time I wondered why Ned’s dad invited me to go on a road trip with them all the way down to Athens, Georgia to see one of the last concerts R.E.M. ever gave. That’s another story. Anyway, re-listening to some of their albums, trying to get into the Zen of Ned via the Lens of John, I picked out this. Even if it’s not a traditional love song. I think some of the lines are pretty spooky accurate. Also, the song describes a state of mind I hope for them to have. For you. Both of you. Always.” Alexander choked back an excess of feels. “Besides, I’m the one who set these two up on their first date, so I think I should get the credit for allllllllll this no matter what you think of the little details.”

“The room has its eyes on you,” George Washington said with dry amusement from near the stage.

“Hit it, Pammy.”

“You’re a troll, Mr. Hamilton!” She did, though.

It wasn’t just a matter of pride, it was gratitude. Two of Alexander’s favorite people taking care of each other meant he had to worry so much less about them. He turned off the mic and stepped away from the stand, but he stayed on the stage so he could watch them dance. Basic slow dance with a few turns and a dip or two for variety.

These stars in his sky had become suns in each other’s. He couldn’t ask for more.

_The sun reflected in the back of my eye_  
_I knocked my head against the sky_  
_The dragonflies are busy buzzing me_  
_A seahorse as if we were in a sea_  
_Halfway from coal, halfway to diamond_  
_My fall knocked a mean chip out of me_  
_I’m gathered in as far as I can reach_  
_Perched up on a precipice_  
_And this is what I see:_

_This is all I want, it’s all I need_  
_This is all I am, it's everything_  
_This is all I want, it’s all I need_

_A blue jay hectors from the felled Catalpa tree_  
_Doctorate in science and a theologian’s dream_  
_The dragonflies are trying to lecture me_  
_A seahorse as if we were in a sea_

_This is all I want, it’s all I need_  
_This is all I am, it's everything, this is all I want, it’s all I need_

_Beat a drum for me, like a butterfly wing_  
_Tropical storm across the ocean_  
_Now don’t explain, I’m sure I’ll want to know_  
_Don’t forget: we’re just halfway from coal_

_This is all I want, it’s all I need_  
_This is all I want, it’s all I need_

The song ended. Applause. Alexander was going to dance with John sometime before the party was over, but there were other considerations, like food and cake and poking John’s ex with a metaphorical stick to see what he was metaphorically made of…

****

Ramzi was just coming out of the men’s room when Junior grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him towards a quieter stretch of hallway. “Can you be discreet?” Junior hissed.

“What’s wrong?” Ramzi whispered. The situation seemed to call for it.

“My dad needs first aid, at least I think it’s just first aid…”

“Your father is _here_?” Did Missy know? He doubted John did, otherwise the young man wouldn’t have been dancing so contentedly only minutes go.

Junior gritted his teeth. “On the bright side, this’ll win you serious future son-in-law points. C’mon!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Beat a Drum performed live by R.E.M.](http://youtu.be/5xp46Om8Zy8)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, everyone! I have been unfaithful. However, it's my 27th birthday, and that seems the perfect day.

Ramzi had been just a kid during the Lebanese Civil War, and had spent it being sheltered by distant relatives in Syria. (The unpardonable callousness to Syria’s current crisis, well, his vehemence was such that he'd agreed not to discuss at social gatherings anymore unless other people brought it up, though Missy enthusiastically supported his activism and charity.) After the war ended, he’d been lucky enough that his closer family was mostly intact, and they were able to find intact housing quickly compared to many.

He was only thinking of this now because the apartment his family had ended up in was definitely smaller than the interior of this recreational vehicle. He’d never expected his childhood home to be dwarfed by a _car_. This didn’t feel like an automobile. This felt like the inside of a train carriage. A nice train, too, premium tickets.

It was intimidating, but in this case good. It meant that Henry Laurens Senior had been able to faint onto a bed rather than crashing onto a floor and seriously hurting himself. It meant there was a lot of room for Ramzi to maneuver when examining him. 

The impetus for Junior dragging Ramzi, the nearest general practitioner, off in a rush had been a phone call in which his father had managed to say, “I’m a little dizzy…” followed by a thump and silence. Henry regained consciousness before they showed up, which was a good sign of nothing too catastrophic being wrong.

Junior simply explained Ramzi as “a doctor” at first. Ramzi didn’t elaborate while he was busy figuring out the cause of the loss of consciousness. He asked a few questions which Henry answered coherently. 

It didn’t take long for Ramzi to reach a conclusion. “Blood sugar crash from not eating enough today, mild dehydration from not drinking enough, then finally being moderately overheated, Mr. Laurens. I assume you took shelter in here from the sun but didn’t want to drain the fuel tank running the air conditioner.”

“You should have told me fuel was low,” Junior said, gnawing his ragged cuticles in a worrying way. 

“You were busy,” Henry said, slowly propping himself up. Ramzi quickly arranged a pillow to make it easier. 

“I packed you lunch.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Now I know who Jamie gets this sort of stubbornness from.” Junior trudged over to the mini fridge to fetch the lunch in question, plus an individual carton of orange juice.

Missy had told Ramzi that her father was consistently gracious to strangers, and now was no exception. “I would shake hands but I’ve been advised not to. Thank you for rushing over here and setting my son at ease…”

Junior interrupted by stabbing the carton with a straw and thrusting it into his father’s hands. “Juice. Drink.”

“You’re angry.”

“Yes!”

Henry sighed and drank. “Perhaps get some air. We don’t want to continue comparing each other to Jamie. It does the boy a slight disservice.”

Ramzi started better organizing the first aid kit so that in a serious emergency he’d be able to find things right away. He wanted something to do with his hands. “Whether or not you leave the vehicle, Junior, please open the door. Get more ventilation in here.”

“As I was saying, doctor, thank you. Please let me compensate you somehow.”

What had it been like, growing up under such tremendous pressure and heavy demands from a man who could also be so honorable, perhaps even kind? Ramzi adjusted his glasses, not that it got rid of the fuzzy blank spot in the center of his field of vision. “I am Dr. Ramzi David. I’m not going to ask for permission, Mr. Laurens, because she is an adult and her own person, but I would appreciate you not resisting my engagement to your daughter tooth and claw.”

“Tooth and nail,” Junior corrected from the doorway, have just opened it. “Though given what this family’s been through in the past decade, ‘tooth and claw’ might be more accurate.”

Henry immediately went still except for narrowing his eyes. “You’re the divorced Lebanese man who’s going blind.”

Ramzi knew Missy had played up how shocking her relationship was with him in order to goad her father during an argument last year, so he was more amused than insulted. “I’ve been through treatments that’ll definitely slow the degeneration and might even stop it, and I am learning coping mechanisms and have many plans in place. I’ve become a naturalized American citizen. The divorce was amicable and I see my children regularly. They like Missy, though we’re still taking the engagement slow so they have more time to get used to her. Nice to meet you, sir.” Since there wasn’t going to be hand-shaking, Ramzi improved a small bow.

Eyes still narrow, Henry continued, “You’re not going to make her Muslim, right?”

“DAD WHAT THE HECK,” Junior wailed - sounding exactly like Jamie, except Jamie might have not minced the oath.

“Even if I was the sort of person to pressure a significant other to convert, that would be extremely odd, as I am Greek Orthodox Christian. Though admittedly I haven’t been very observant lately. You did know I grew up in a forty percent Christian country, and moreover you do know it’s her life, right?” Ramzi packed up the kit and took a step back.

After a pause, Henry cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Interesting to hear that from you,” came a voice from behind Ramzi.

It was John, though Missy was a step behind him, hovering protectively. John continued with greater ease than he likely felt. “Don’t blame Pierre for having a panic attack when he saw Junior running off with a doctor and had some idea of the context. He’s smart but high-strung, and he knows a lot of people who are good at interrogation.”

Henry moved to the edge of the bed. Ramzi steadied him. “Jack…”

“I’m not the Jack I was or the John you wanted, Dad.” John took a deep breath and Missy lightly rubbed the small of his back. “But would you like to come see the John I am now?”

****

“...And I was just wondering how you felt about the International Money Fund’s recent initiative regarding…”

Ned shook Alexander gently. “Stop questioning Francis. Look.” He pointed at the doorway.

Alexander leaned over to see better. “Hey, three out of four Laurens kids are all coming back from whatever they...oh shit.”

Francis looked too and raised his eyebrows. “I’m going to mosey on over to a place less fraught, gentlemen. Pleasure meeting you.” He took his wineglass with him.

As soon as Alexander had free internet access after first meeting John, he’d looked up his father so he’d know the man by sight. Right now Henry Laurens Senior wasn’t being very scary-looking. He was drooping in a wheelchair being pushed by Missy herself. Jamie ran up to them and started babbling something Alexander couldn’t hear. Ned made his way over with more dignity 

Eliza materialized, the good angel on his shoulder as usual, and kissed the top of his head. “Don’t be petty about this, Alexander, no matter how much you love John. Rise up. _Because_ you love John.” Philip and Henriette were now both napping under the supervision of Martha Washington, partly so Henriette’s au pair Olympe could get something to eat and practice some English. 

Alexander caught one of her hands and kissed it. “Best of wives and best of women.”

He could hear the smile in her voice without looking. “I’m not saying just sit there, though, I think he could use you by his side. ”

Alexander made his way to the clot of Laurenses by blood, marriage, or engagement, but he was tactical about it. He didn’t go straight there. He talked to people. He moseyed.

He watched Ned greet his new father-in-law with what would have looked like perfect composure to anyone else. Alexander could tell he was internally screaming multiple emotions.

“I have numerous reservations,” Henry Laurens said cautiously between bites of food several people were nudging him into consuming. “But thank you for rejuvenating what my wife left behind.”

“You of course mean her garden,” Ned said, deadpan.

“What else could I mean?” Henry replied, also deadpan. They could have a pan-killing contest, such was the mortality of their respective pans.

Ned nodded gravely, then held out a hand to John. “Dance with me.” The tension went out of John’s stance and he allowed himself to be led onto the dance floor, not looking back.

Alexander was almost there at the Laurens lot when Lafayette beat him to it, dashing Musketeer that he was. He had something behind his back. “Sir. Mr. Laurens.”

“May I help you?”

Lafayette had on his most Descended from Genteel Warriors smile. “I asked for you to help John once. Begged. Cursed. I don’t know if you remember.”

Jamie hissed, “Dad, this is the - ”

“This is between your father and me, James,” Lafayette said crisply. “Mr. Laurens, I have two things to say to you. The first is, you owe me nothing.”

Henry looked like he’d been considering hiding behind his daughter and was surprised to find it unnecessary. Maybe. “What?”

“Nothing. Your son, you owe all, but me, you owe none. Second…” Lafayette revealed a small piece of cake on a small plate with a dainty fork. “This cake, the inside is of rainbows, and I made the fondant flowers resting upon it. You may eat this cake. You perhaps will not eat this cake. The cake is here now. It is truth.”

Alexander snagged Lafayette by the arm before he could sweep past him. “Nice mindfuck.”

Lafayette gave Alexander a wink. “Who’s the best? _C’est moi._ ”

George Washington briefly exchanged words with Henry Laurens. Interesting. 

Finally, Alexander made it to The Table. He said, “My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

“Don’t be too much Alexander right now,” Missy said. Ramzi had peeled off, and Jamie looked like he wanted to make a break for it. 

“Your daughter gets me,” Alexander said. 

Henry hadn’t touched the cake, but he hadn’t pushed it away. “Do you have something to say to me, Alexander?”

“Too much. Too little.” Alexander coughed. “I’m not in love with John, but I love him. If he lets you into his life more after this, that’s his choice and your privilege. If you’re planning on making big donations to Vernon or something - I saw you talking with George, it’s not hard to figure out - that’s cool, but you gotta pay attention to what he needs. If you care. If you’re not just here to gawk.”

There was definite sadness in John’s father’s eyes. “I -”

“Not up to me.” Alexander whirled away. This song was almost over, and John had a promise to keep.

****

“We agreed at my wedding, when you did not dance with me, that I would dance with you at your wedding,” Alexander said, approaching John.

“Xander might throw a tantrum otherwise,” Ned teased, taking his hands off John. A tiny part of him mourned at that. “I could use a breather.”

John and Alexander nodded. Alexander said, “If you haven’t had the asparagus roll things yet, I think you’ll like them.”

Ned snorted and pointed at Alexander. _“Te quiero.”_ Then he pointed at John. _“Te amo.”_ Only then did he leave.

“You could use that in Spanish language textbooks to illustrate the distinction between the two 'I love you' types,” Alexander commented as a nice slow song started up, like he’d hoped.

“Ah, but where does that put you and me?” John asked, joining their hands. “Also, I think your wife is taking pictures.”

"I think Hercules is taking video, which is logical given how annoyed he was he missed us dancing at _his_ wedding." Alexander put one hand lightly on John’s waist as they began to sway. “I dunno. My name is Alexander Hamilton, and there’s a million things I haven’t done, and one that I don’t feel a need to do is overthink this. I overthink most things, but not this. Is your dad looking at us right now? I don’t know. I’m not worried about it currently.”

“Your current meds must be fabulous.” John grinned as he took them into a little twirl.

“They’re not bad. This is a good day. And you? What are you thinking?”

John didn’t know what he was going to do with his father after this party was over, or in fact this dance. He didn’t know where everything he had here had really come from, not really, not how one brick had been painstakingly mortared to another, and another, until he had this castle now, this home. This home with all these people and all these choices.

His shoulder ached a little from keeping his arm bent. It was worth it if it helped him hold on. 

“I’m John Laurens. In the place to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned before, scraps of ficlets and prompt fills will continue to have a home in "Last-Second Stories", and the [Our Agency spinoff featuring Pierre, Chev, and more is still ongoing. ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/585238)
> 
> This series has gotten me through a lot of difficulties since it began. So have you. All of you. Thank you. <3
> 
> (Especially those of you who comment a lot - you folks are A+ would write for again. Feel free to request things for LSS.)
> 
> Before you go, here are links to my stealthily queer published urban fantasy novel: [ Available as ebook and print form on Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DSLT3D2/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1529183871&sr=8-2&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=Donaya+Haymond&dpPl=1&dpID=51cFXjiasBL&ref=plSrch), and in [print from the Barnes & Noble site.](https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/seasons-turning-donaya-haymond/1129067787?ean=9780999202654)


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